Chasing the Wind (24 page)

Sipping his scotch, Bingham listened to the conversation with half a mind. Tom's investors were hungry and tough—they wouldn't accept the slightest risk of interference in this project. Funds were committed, and they needed to move fast, get some dirt dug before the public knew what had hit them.

The phone slammed down and Robert turned. "Tom thinks we should take her off the project."

Bingham set the glass down on the table. He linked his hands and rotated his thumbs. Looked at the wallpaper on the wall and followed the trace of gold-patterned vines on the bronze background around to the hallway door. He'd not noticed that before. Mulling over the problem, he continued admiring the braided woodwork on the white double door.

Amalise Catoir was young, just starting her career. He liked the girl, but that wasn't the issue. If she were fired, bad feelings would ensue in the working group and, even worse, throughout the firm. That could cause some delay. He shook his head. "Nothing's happened yet. Mangen & Morris invests time and money in their associates. Let's not ask for trouble until we know more."

Robert frowned. "Why chance it?" Bingham heard the undercurrent of exasperation in his voice.

"Follow her. But leave her alone. Understood?"

Robert's face went blank. "Tom will be here on Tuesday. He's bringing Richard Murray along."

"Well, keep your cat on our mouse. We want to know every move she makes for the next few days."

"Don't worry."

Bingham gave him a quick look. Robert's smile was cold.

"How are things going on Tom's end?"

"We've got commitments for the full twenty million."

"Good. The banks are playing chicken-and-egg. They want the twenty million in First Merchant before they wire their own money at closing."

Robert narrowed his eyes at Bingham. "No. First Merchant's in the lending syndicate. We have conflicting interests, and I don't trust them. They don't get a dime from us until the deal's complete, until the banks have funded. They'll go first." He leaned forward and reached for a sandwich. "That's not negotiable." He lifted the top piece of bread and took inventory of what was there, reassembled the sandwich, sank back into the chair, and took a bite.

Bingham rattled the ice in his glass and looked deep into the scotch, as if searching for an answer. After a moment he looked up. "We'll have to work this out. They're saying there's risk if they send their money and then something happens to kill the deal—the investors come up short, or someone changes his mind at the last minute, something like that."

Robert gave him a look. "For instance, a protest pops up in the Marigny, led by Miss Catoir's friends, and the politicians back off?"

Bingham pursed his lips. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We'll work out a solution."

Robert stood, linking his hands and cracking his knuckles. Bingham winced.

"It's a sweet deal you put together, Bingham, even without the casino coming along. Let's hope the woman doesn't interfere. You've got a big fee riding on things working out. Things go right, and Tom will show his appreciation." He headed for the door.

"Keep your man on Miss Catoir."

Robert didn't miss a step. "Oh, don't worry. We will."

"And push the closing along, Robert. No delays. Keep up the pressure."

"It would have been easier if it weren't Thanksgiving week."

"That's the date I want."

Phnom Penh, Cambodia 1975

The ramp began opening as the
plane rolled to a stop at Bear Cat, just outside Saigon. For a moment the light was blinding, and Oliver shielded his eyes with his arm as he watched the silhouetted medics rushing to help. They scrambled up the ramp and lifted Sam onto a stretcher, then placed the stretcher on a gurney. Sam's lips tightened as the medics lifted her, and Oliver saw tears shining on her face. He took her hand and held on as they eased the gurney down the ramp and then crossed the tarmac to the waiting ambulance.

Oliver was climbing into the back of the ambulance to ride with Sam when he heard someone calling his name. Turning, he squinted into the sun, saw Margaret Bordelon emerge from the hold, stumbling, slipping the rest of the way. He started toward her as she righted herself, then halted, glancing over his shoulder toward the ambulance.

Raising her arm, Margaret shouted. "Oliver! What about the boy?"

Someone inside the ambulance yelled that he'd better hurry. They had to go.

Oliver tensed, frowning as Margaret reached him, halting a few feet away, bending and hugging her waist, breathing hard.

A jet engine roared to life nearby. Behind him the ambulance engine idled. He looked at Margaret. "Take the boy with you, will you?"

At that Margaret straightened, dropped her hands to her sides and stared. "What! Me?" She looked about, then turned back to him. "Me?"

"Yes." He turned back to the ambulance, shouting. "Wait for me, I'm coming!" Over his shoulder he called to Margaret, "I'm going with Sam. The boy's assigned to Operation Babylift." He stopped and turned, giving her a hard look, and she nodded.

"It's official, Margaret. He's roistered for immediate evacuation on Operation Babylift. Sam's lost the paperwork, but his sponsor's name is written on the envelope pinned to his pocket. See that it gets done. Please."

Again she nodded, mute.

Oliver turned before she could object, climbed into the ambulance, and the doors closed behind him.

New Orleans—1977

Monday morning. Eight fifteen. The telephone
behind her on the credenza buzzed. Amalise looked over the pile of agreements she'd left on her desk last night and swiveled to answer the phone.

Ashley Elizabeth's voice greeted her. "There's a Richard Murray on the line. Says he's working on the Murdoch deal."

"I haven't had coffee yet. Ask if I can call him back."

"He says he needs to speak with you right now."

Amalise cleared her throat. "Ashley Elizabeth, please tell him that I'll call him back." She glared at the phone. "And, hold my calls, will you."

"All right."

Amalise turned back to the pile of agreements she'd begun revising in accordance with changes that the parties had agreed on yesterday. Seven agreements in all. A paragraph here, a sentence there. She would mark the changes, have them typed, proofed, and copied. Then she would circulate the documents, hopefully by eight or nine o'clock that evening. She figured ten or so hours to finish the work.

The phone buzzed again. She picked up.

"He says . . . ah . . ." Ashley Elizabeth lowered her voice. "He says to put you on the phone pronto, or you'll be off the deal before you can pack."

"What?"

"That's what he said."

"All right. I'll take the call."

Amalise stared at the blinking light that was Richard Murray. She picked up the receiver and pressed the button.

"This is Amalise Catoir," she said in the coolest tone she could manufacture.

The answering voice was clipped, impatient. "Richard Murray here, Morgan Klemp on the Murdoch deal. We need your comments on the loan documents, and we need them yesterday."

"Ah."

She could hear rustling over the line, the sound of papers being shuffled on a desk.

"All right," he said. "Let's start with the bank Loan Agreement. We'll go page by page. You summarize the changes made over the weekend on the drafts, and I'll take notes."

"Hold it."

"Now," the voice snapped.

"Look." Amalise swiveled the chair, looking out the window. "I don't have time for this. The agreements will be revised today, and changes will be sent to you this evening by fax."

There was a pause. "We're leaving for LaGuardia at six, five your time. Flight's at seven thirty. Tom Hannigan and I are coming down there. I need the proposed changes immediately. We're not walking blind into that meeting tomorrow."

Amalise swallowed. Who was this guy? She did a quick calculation. With enough help . . . she took a deep breath. "It'll take a minimum of eight hours to work through the revisions and have the documents revised. I'll send them over to your hotel tonight."

"No good. Tom's going to want to talk them over on the plane. I need everything by five p.m." He snorted. "As in post-menopausal."

She straightened, set her jaw, but decided to ignore the remark. "Sorry, but that can't be done."

There was a long pause. "Maybe you're not the girl for the job, Amalise. Did I pronounce the name right. Amalise?"

"You sure did, Dick."

"Richard." A yawn drifted through the phone. "Look, this isn't your bridge club. My notebook is empty right now. You're going to fill it. If Tom's not briefed, it will be your fault, and he won't be happy." He laughed.
Snap. Pop.
"So I'll hold."

Gum. He was chewing gum. She looked at the phone and contemplated hanging up. On the other hand, Richard was working with Tom, and Tom Hannigan and Bingham Murdoch were the lead investors on this deal. So instead she slammed the hold button down as if it were Richard Murray himself and stared at the blinking light. She now had only eight hours.

Heart racing, she rose and walked to the door of her office, working to hide her anger. Coffee. She'd had only three hours sleep after working till two in the morning, so the first order of business was to locate a cup of coffee. A glance back over her shoulder as she reached the door confirmed that Richard Murray was still on hold. Ashley Elizabeth looked up as she trudged past her secretary's desk.

"Amalise." She halted and turned. "Did you know you've left a call on hold?"

"Yes." She gritted her teeth and walked on.

She found Rebecca in the coffee room at a table near the windows. Outside the clear, bright November light was tempting. For an instant Amalise wondered what would happen if she just left that call on hold and went out for the day. She filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee and sat down.

"What's wrong?" Rebecca asked as she pulled out a chair and sat. "You look grim."

Amalise shook her head. "You're not going to believe this."

Rebecca's eyes grew wide as Amalise repeated her conversation with Richard Murray. "And he's still holding?"

Amalise took a sip of the hot coffee and nodded. "He says he'll hold until he gets a summary of the revisions to the seven documents the banks negotiated over the weekend. We finished the session last night, and I took notes."

Rebecca grimaced. "He wants you to tutor him?" She sipped her own coffee and looked at Amalise over the rim of the cup. "It's a setup—winning through intimidation. You'll spend all day bringing him up to speed, and then while he's sleeping on the plane, you'll be working all night to get the documents revised for the morning meeting."

Amalise nodded. "Otherwise, he'll stroll into the conference room tomorrow without the information, and Tom Hannigan will blame me."

Rebecca gazed into her coffee, turning the cup slowly in circles with the tips of her fingers. Then she looked up, smiling. "Two can play that game. How about this?"

Amalise leaned forward, listening. When Rebecca had finished, they looked at each other and laughed.

The hold light on the telephone was still blinking when Amalise returned to her office. Glancing down at her watch, Amalise walked to the desk, turned her back to the phone as she pulled out the chair, took a deep breath, and sat down. Then she called Ashley Elizabeth and asked her to come in. She would need two people in the typing pool assigned to work exclusively with her. And proofreaders.

And Ashley Elizabeth's help.

Ashley Elizabeth obtained the New York fax number they would need from the transaction distribution list. As Amalise worked to complete the revision of each document, Ashley Elizabeth shuffled them from the office to the typing pool, from the typists to the proofers, and after all corrections were made, back to Amalise for final review.

Then on to the fax room.

Amalise worked quickly, efficiently, and Ashley Elizabeth held all calls. Still the hold light blinked. Once in a while she'd pick up the phone and say, "Still there?" Richard would say, "Yep," and she'd put him back on hold.

Once, Raymond stuck his head into her office.

Amalise looked up. Set down the pencil and flexed her fingers. "Do you know someone named Richard Murray?"

Raymond wrinkled his brow, eyeing the blinking light behind her. "Did you know you have a call on hold?"

"Yes. What's Richard's position?"

"He's in corporate finance, an associate, I think. Two, maybe three years. He's coming in tomorrow with Tom Hannigan." He gave her a quizzical look. "Why?"

"Just wondered."

Around two o'clock Amalise turned to the credenza and punched the blinking light, listening. She heard voices in the background.
"Convertible debt . . . No, we want the equity, the equity!"
A drawer slammed. A curse. She placed the call on hold again.

As the light blinked and Ashley Elizabeth trekked in and out of her office, Amalise kept an eye on her watch. Three o'clock, then four. What was Einstein's theory? The faster you move, the slower time passes? Or was it the reverse?